Saturday, July 26, 2008

Celly Come Home

He drifted away into the night without so much as a beep. There were no warning signs. And while, yes, it is true that Celly and I had only been together since May, we grew close quickly. Our dedication, reliance on one another, the depth of what we shared came in a lightening flash and blossomed.

And now he's gone.

If I knew where he'd gone. If I knew he was with someone else... some stranger, perhaps with a flashier car, a designer purse with a little pocket just for him... well, perhaps it would be easier. But Celly and I were together one moment, and the next he was simply not there. I spent the morning retracing my steps. CVS. Roche Brothers Market. The Office (Starbucks). I've called out, checked beneath gum-wadded tables. I've wept.

It's as if he never existed. It's as if Celly had not hugged my hip, tucked inside my jeans, with loyalty and a solid determination to serve all these months. As though what we shared daily were a trick of the mind, a tangled memory that was only a dream. And yet I feel that loss, the emptiness of glossy black weight where he nestled in our time together.

Yes, Celly is gone and I don't know where, or why, or even if it was something I did. I've lost more weight recently. My jeans are loose and I've had some cash slip out of my pockets. Was he displeased with the loss of that extra padding? Did I callously fail to hear the dreaded thud of his impact with a cruel floor? Is Celly somewhere, tucked into a lost and found bin, missing me?

I may never know, but I hold out hope. I search for it. I burn to know he is safe, somewhere close, waiting for me to find him.

Celly... if you're out there... come home to me. I don't need to know where you've been... who you've been with. I'll erase the call list and never even look at it. Just come home, baby... come home.


  1. I hate when that happens. I would hope that if you call it, someone would answer it....

  2. Nope... goes right to my voice mail. William Shatner telling me nobody is there to take my call.


  3. I'm so sorry, I always go into a blind panic. Hopefully you've backed up your phone #s. (Speaking of which, I need to!)

  4. Oh dear. You can have my cell--I don't like it. Of course, then you'd have to give rides to my daughter cuz she's the only one calls me.

  5. I'm so sorry... It sucks when you lose something personal like that. I hope you find it.

  6. ((hugs)) dude, cell phone loss is the worst. i hope you find it!

  7. Got a new one today. Same, but it's white and black and has graphics cuz it was the special edition.

    I thank all that is holy VM lets you upload all your junk to a safe folder.